Red Toenails
by Tracy
Summary: Short, humorous vignette that fits into Blood Relations.


Red Toenails  
  
by Tracy LeCates  
  
"Nick, I'm sorry," Peter apologized for the tenth time as he dressed and slipped his shoes on.  
  
"I know, I know," his wife answered unhappily. The sun was barely rising, and already the day was in full swing.  
  
"If Kermit hadn't gotten that stomach flu," he tried once more to explain.  
  
"I know, I know," she grumbled. "You'd stay home and help me, but Kermit is sick and we still have an agency to run and cases to investigate," she finished for him. Slipping on a pair of maternity sweats, she climbed awkwardly from the bed. "I hope that dirty stinker spent the night with his head in the bowl."  
  
Shrugging his sport jacket on, he came closer and pulled his wife into his arms. "How are you feeling this morning?" he asked softly.  
  
"Just ducky," she replied, sliding her arms around his neck. "So ducky I even waddle."  
  
"You don't waddle," Peter tried to assure her. "You won't really be waddling for another month."  
  
"I'm huge," she insisted. "I'm six months pregnant and I'm a whale. If we went to the beach some damn do-gooder would probably try to get me back into the water."  
  
Pulling back, he planted a kiss on his wife's forehead. "Most beautiful whale I ever saw. Try to relax today, okay?" he pleaded. "Just take some time for yourself. Have a cup of tea and a leisurely breakfast before the monsters wake up and the carpenters get here. Take a nap, or a bubble bath. Do some shopping, you just got that load of catalogues in the mail yesterday."  
  
Nodding her head, Nicole made the conscious decision not to enlighten her hopelessly male spouse on what her days were really like. "Yes, sir."  
  
Smiling down at her, Peter relaxed a little. "Good girl. I'll be home as early as I can. I love you."  
  
*********  
  
The closing of the front door awakened at least one of the twins. Sighing in resignation as she heard the first call of, "Daddy?!" from Caitlyn, whose feet she could hear padding down the hall, she exited the bedroom.  
  
"Morning, Munchkin." Kneeling on the floor in the hall, she attempted to greet her eldest with a kiss.  
  
"Daddy?" Cait called again, peering around her mother.  
  
"Daddy went to work, sweetie," Nicole said calmly, thoroughly expecting what followed.  
  
Chin beginning to quiver, the tears springing forth, Cait sniffled. "Want Daddy."  
  
*You and me both.* The already harried young mother climbed to her feet with some effort and held out a hand to her daughter. "Daddy will be home later. C'mon, let's go see if your brother is up. We can make pancakes for breakfast."  
  
Ignoring the offered hand, Cait turned in the opposite direction and started for the stairs, stomping her pajama-clad feet as hard as she could, producing a rather unsatisfying "thud" on the carpeted floor. One tiny, determined hand reached out to grip the posts on the banister as she made her way downstairs. "Not wait for Mr. Stupidhead," she declared on her way down.  
  
"Cait, don't touch anything until I get there!" Nicole warned her as she hurried to get the late sleeper up.  
  
********  
  
Paul trailed along after his mother, into the kitchen, where his twin sister already waited at the table, playing with a pile of salt and sugar. The kitchen was in a complete state of upheaval. Weeks after moving into the old Colonial, the Caines had decided to do just a little renovating. The kitchen had been the first project undertaken. Wallpaper had been stripped down, and the walls would receive a fresh coat of paint, once the carpenters, electricians and plumbers finished their work. The oven, which had been against the wall, was currently in the middle of the room, homeless without the center island, yet to be built. Cabinets, which had hung on the walls above the stove, sat waiting reassignment in the alcove to the back porch. The tacky linoleum, which had been on the floor when they bought the house was gone, and the cold plywood beneath it yielded up splinters to unsuspecting bare feet.  
  
"Cait." Nicole sighed, taking the saltshaker and sugar bowl away from the little girl, earning a wail of disapproval. *Sugar and spice and everything nice, my ass.*  
  
Paul climbed up into his chair, and put his head down on the table, watching the two ladies of the house with tired, gray eyes. "Pancakes?" he asked sleepily.  
  
Nicole reached down to ruffle his hair. "You bet. Who wants to help?" she asked, glancing at Cait, and hoping to provide a distraction for the terrible-two year old.  
  
"MEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" the girl answered at the top of her considerable voice.  
  
Grateful that the tears and tantrums had ceased for the moment, Nicole picked up the toddler, bringing her over to the counter, and let her sit on the barstool. Gathering the breakfast makings on the counter, Nicole went back to the fridge for the container of fresh blueberries. The giggle greeting her ears from behind her set her alarms off. But, not soon enough.  
  
CRACK - SPLAT  
  
Whirling around, she caught sight of the little girl plucking the eggs from the bowl, cheering as she hurled them to the floor.  
  
********  
  
After loading the last of the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, and herding the kids into the den to watch TV, Nicole made a half-hearted attempt to clean the egg mess from the plywood subfloor. A knock at the front door dislodged the fantasy she was entertaining about a month long vacation somewhere in the sun. Alone.  
  
One tired hand pressing against her aching lower back, she made her way to the front of the house, and opened the door for the carpenters.  
  
"Morning, Ms. Caine!" The head of the work crew greeted her as he squeezed passed her in the doorway. His belly was by far larger than hers.  
  
"Good morning," *Mr. Fucking Butt-Crack,* she silently amended.  
  
The crew of three carpenters went straight back to the kitchen, and Nicole made herself scarce. The plumber and the electrician soon joined the carpenters, and the smell of fresh brewed coffee wafted through the house, teasing the nostrils of the pregnant woman.  
  
Picking up the toys strewn throughout the den, the young mother savored the few minutes' peace she had left. The twins settled in on the large sectional sofa with their favorite toys and the remote.  
  
Cait took command of the helm, channel surfing with the practiced ease of a forty year old man, until she came upon her favorite show. With a gleeful shriek she put the remote down as the theme song grated harshly on her mother's ear. "The ship set ground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle, with Gilligan..."  
  
"GILLIGAN!" Cait chanted, poking mercilessly at her brother until he joined in. Nicole's eyes turned heavenward in a silent supplication. *Please, let there be a blackout."  
  
********  
  
The Gilligan marathon continued as the morning's weather took a turn for the worse. The clear sky had turned unexpectedly cloudy, and any hopes of taking the kids outside to burn off a little of their seemingly boundless energy were completely erased. The rain, which started out as a light drizzle, soon turned to a torrential downpour.  
  
The first floor vacuumed, and lunchtime approaching, Nicole took a deep breath and entered the kitchen, hoping against hope to brew a cup of tea for herself without seeing any butt cracks. Her hopes went unrealized as she pushed the door open. *One, two, three.* she counted unamusedly.  
  
"Morning, Ms. Caine," the boisterous plumber called out as he approached. "How's the little one doing today?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear as he lay his hand on her abdomen, giving it a quick rub.  
  
Nicole's gray eyes narrowed to slits, flashing dangerously. "I have a loaded gun in the house and a big back yard," she said softly, a strange smile beginning to form on her face. *Not all men are bad,* she reminded herself. *Some are dead.*  
  
*********  
  
Settling into the recliner chair, Nicole put her feet up and reached for one of the magazines she'd been receiving in bulk the last few months. *I'm on the preggo mailing list from Hell.* The twins were engrossed in a battle to end all battles as Barbie and GI Joe duked it out on the floor in front of the television. Gilligan droned on endlessly in the background, the canned laughter sometimes barely audible over the sound of the rain against the house.  
  
Nicole opened the magazine and skimmed over the articles, patently ignoring the ads, which featured smiling pregnant women, whose ankles were never swollen, backs never hurt and whose unborn babes never woke up when they lay down for two minutes of rest. *Me-Time,* she read, scowling at the title of the magazine article. *Obviously written by someone who lives on another planet where men are the ones who give birth.* Setting the magazine aside, she closed her eyes, letting the sound of the rain lull her into a relaxed state for the first time that day.  
  
BLAM BLAM BLAM  
  
The hammering in the kitchen moments later brought her eyes flying open. "What the.?" she whispered to herself, picking up the magazine again.  
  
BLAM BLAM CRASH!!!  
  
The framed print on the wall came crashing down. Nicole brought the footrest of the recliner down and levered herself out of the chair, murder in her eyes. The life of a carpenter was unwittingly spared by her son, toddling into her path, as she made her way to the door. "Lunch?" he asked hopefully, staring up at her with large soulful eyes.  
  
*********  
  
Lunch was a far less complicated affair than breakfast had been. A pizza ordered and delivered from the local Pizza Hut eliminated another trip to the kitchen, cooking and part of the cleanup. By the end of the meal, only the kids needed to be washed.  
  
Cait held up her hands, both covered in pizza sauce. A slice of pepperoni clung to her brother's cheek, right where she'd stuck it.  
  
"Okay, messy monsters," Nicole sighed. "Let's get you two cleaned up and down for a nap." Climbing to her feet she herded the twins upstairs again, and into the large bathroom at the end of the hall.  
  
The tantrum began afresh as the tired and cranky two year olds began to fuss. "No nap!" Cait insisted, fighting her mother as she attempted to wash lunch off the little girl's hands and face. "I not baby!"  
  
"Not baby neither," Paul added, more quietly, sitting next to his sister on the bathroom counter.  
  
"Of course you're not babies," Nicole assured them both as she wiped at their faces with the washcloth. "But, even big people have to take naps. Daddy takes naps," she reminded Cait.  
  
The girl seemed to consider this information carefully before squirming unhappily. ".'kay." she finally relented.  
  
Nicole glanced at Paul, who seemed almost relieved that his sister had capitulated. His eyes had already begun to droop.  
  
*******  
  
With the kids tucked in, and stories read until they fell asleep, Nicole wandered wearily back to the master bedroom, and closed the door. For the last month she'd simply not had the energy to do much of anything. After the events of the last pregnancy, she'd been under strict orders from her doctor, and her hovering husband, to take it easy, rest, relax and not overstress herself.  
  
The world, however, was not complying.  
  
"Nice candlelit bath," she murmured to herself. Removing a handful of scented candles from the bottom drawer of the dresser, she went into the bathroom and placed them around the room. Setting the cordless phone by the side of the tub, she shed her sweats and slipped into a warm terrycloth robe, starting the hot water running in the tub. She walked back out into the bedroom and opened the small box on the dresser to grab a pack of matches. Her searching fingers came up empty. "No, no, no," she chanted softly. Pulling open the drawers to the dresser and the nightstands, she met with similar results. No matches. "Ahhhh, nuts."  
  
Nicole swung the bedroom door open and started out into the hall. Her progress was halted by the sound of hammers and a circular saw in the kitchen below. Angrily turning back into the bedroom she exchanged her robe for her sweats again before going downstairs. "Gotta get dressed to go downstairs in my own damn house," she muttered in irritation.  
  
A quick but thorough search of the living room, den and dining room produced only a handful of empty matchbooks. "How can we not have any stinking matches in this house?!" Storming into the kitchen she pinned the workers with her glare. "Who smokes?!" she snapped.  
  
*********  
  
Dashing, as quickly as she could manage, back upstairs, confiscated cigarette lighter clutched in her hand, Nicole reached the bathroom just as the water was beginning to trickle over the rim of the tub. Quickly shutting off the water, she lit the candles, turned off the lights and stripped out of the sweatsuit. Taking a deep, relaxing breath, she inhaled the light scent of the candles and stepped into the tub.  
  
"WHAT THE.?" she blurted, jumping back out of the freezing cold water.  
  
"Ms. Caine?" The plumber shouted up the stairs. "We had to turn the hot water off for a couple hours - just thought you should know!"  
  
Throwing the lit candles into the tub of icy water, she put her robe back on and stormed out into the bedroom, determined to at least get an hour's worth of naptime in. Pulling back the covers she began to climb into the bed, when the sound of the bedroom doorknob jiggling caught her attention. The knob turned this way and that before the latch clicked and the door swung open.  
  
Paul shuffled into the room, an unhappy expression on his face, and Nicole rose to meet him halfway to the bed. "Paul? What is it?" she questioned as she knelt down on the floor.  
  
Her son hiccupped once, then wordlessly went into her arms, wrapping his around her neck as she picked him up. "What's the matter? You have a bad dream?"  
  
The little boy shook his head in answer before vomiting over her shoulder, down the back of her robe.  
  
*********  
  
Fouled robed discarded, Nicole set about the task of cleaning up herself and the sick little boy, who apparently had caught his beloved Uncle Kermit's stomach bug. The task wasn't made any easier by the lack of hot water. Retrieving a fresh pair of PJ's for her son, she returned to the bathroom and the task at hand.  
  
The ringing of the phone interrupted the cold sponge bath, and she snatched the cordless up. "What?" she snapped.  
  
"Hello to you, too," Kermit, their business partner, responded. "I just thought I'd call and see what you were up to."  
  
"Sponging puke off myself and my kid. How's by you?" she growled.  
  
"Oh, no. Paul got it too? You think he got it from me when you brought them down to the office the other day?" he asked. "Don't worry, it doesn't last long. I'm feeling a lot better this afternoon."  
  
Nicole opened the window and tossed the cordless phone out, listening to the satisfying crunch it made, hitting the flagstone patio below.  
  
*******  
  
The clock on the mantle struck five, at last, and the workmen evacuated the kitchen, leaving Nicole alone in the house with a sick toddler asleep in her lap, a baby kicking in her stomach, and another tiny terror polishing off the last slice of pizza for her dinner. The Gilligan marathon continued, despite Nicole's repeated attempts at bribery to get Cait to watch something else. Her nerves frayed and patience at its end, she glared at Peter as he walked in the door.  
  
"Hey, babe," he called in greeting, draping his sport coat over the back of the couch. "Quiet day?" He came to the side of the sofa and planted a kiss on her cheek before his attention was commandeered by Cait, throwing herself at him.  
  
Nicole simply glared her wordless reply, her eyes beginning to brim with tears of exhaustion and frustration.  
  
Catching the look, his heart sank. Peter knelt by the couch, setting Cait back down on the ground. "Nick? What's wrong?" Tears were something he was unused to from his wife.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asked. "What's wrong?" she repeated a little more loudly. "Paul's got Kermit's stomach flu and Cait's been having tantrums, and Gilligan won't go away, and I've been looking at vertical smiles all day and that idiot was rubbing my belly like I'm BUDDHA or something and I got puked all over and I couldn't even take a bath because we had no hot water and I'm tired!" she blurted out. "And those people who write these women's magazines must be men! How can a person take a candlelit bath with no matches and cold water? They said I should pamper myself, they said I should paint my toenails red! How can I paint my stupid toenails red when I can't even SEE my FEET???"  
  
"Whoa, whoa..." Peter whispered, holding up his hands in surrender. "Slow down, Nick. Let me get Paul and Cait up to bed, then we'll talk, okay?"  
  
Nicole nodded miserably, the tears brimming in her eyes threatening to break free as she relinquished her hold on her sleeping son.  
  
Peter scooped up the drowsing boy, then, took Cait's hand, heading upstairs. With the hot water back on, he gave the twins a quick bath, then settled them into their beds. After a quick stop in the master bedroom, snatching a small bottle on his way through, he returned downstairs, the house quiet once again. "Okay, Nick. The kids are in bed, now we can." He stopped short.  
  
Stretched out on the sofa, the remote still in her hand, Nicole was fast asleep. Her last conscious act had been to turn off Gilligan.  
  
The young detective stooped down and kissed his wife's cheek. "You were supposed to take it easy today," he whispered. Carefully easing her feet up off the sofa, he slid in beneath her legs, letting them rest on his lap, and took out the small bottle he'd pocketed upstairs. Unscrewing the cap, he removed the tiny brush, and slowly applied the red polish to her toenails.  
  
End 


End file.
